Alternate Adventures of Bad Luck Bree
by Bad Luck Bree
Summary: Here is where you can give me ideas! You'll see when you read what I have written. Don't know if it will catch on.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, mates. I'm gonna try something. I was thinkin' today about Bad Luck Bree. I'm sad that that story is over. I miss the love/hate relationship between Bree and Davy. So here's what I'm gonna do. I don't know if it will work or catch on, but I'm going to take requests. Give me a scene from my story that you are curious to see how it would've played out if I had done something different. And make sure to put what would be different. Such as "What if this happened?" And if I have ideas I will choose as many as I can. Ok, just experimenting, mates!

- Bad Luck Bree


	2. Over the Side: story 1

Ok, mates. This is for Lone Wolf who asked me to write a scene where Bree drives Davy up the wall and he goes ballistic. I had fun writing this. So, here it is! This is set in the gap of events between chapters 11 and 12. We get to see Davy and Bree's interaction after the dress incident!

Bree slowly unfolded herself from her hammock, her face set like stone. She was still fuming on the inside, her emotions uncertain. She clenched a fist, her claws cutting into her palm. Anger was making her dizzy. She had decided on one thing…

_I'll make 'im pay! He'll pay for humiliatin' me!_

And for making her heart swell with unknown, frightening emotions.

Jones didn't hear the girl emerge on deck until he heard her voice. He tensed, his tentacles clenching. _Not now._ He didn't want to have to deal with her. He was still shaken by the feelings she had stirred deep within him.

But Jones wasn't given the luxury of ignoring the girl. He felt something strike him hard in the back. All activity ceased. Jones' tentacles began writhing slowly. He turned at a painfully slow speed, his pale blue eyes lit with a cruel fire. They landed on Bree.

The girl was standing with her legs spread apart as if in a fighter's stance. Her fierce blue eyes were blazing and in her hand she clutched a belaying pin. Blood trickled down her lip as she bared her teeth, actually scraping her own skin. Her fins were standing up straight as her hackles rose. A savage growl was issuing from her throat.

Jones knew the cause of her anger. She would never be over the dress incident. Never. And he wasn't sure if he would be either.

But that was no excuse for this behavior. Insubordination! Striking a superior officer!

Jones stooped slightly, snaking out one of his tentacles and picking up the belaying pin that lay by his feet where it had ricocheted from his hard muscled shoulder. He twirled it almost lazily, his gaze landing on Bree again. He spoke in a dangerously low voice, "I suppose ye threw this?"

Bree didn't back down, rage in her eyes. Jones thought he could detect a bit of pain in her fathomless blue depths as well. But he paid no heed to it.

Bree stepped forward, the belaying pin grasped tight in her claws. She raised it threateningly, snarling, "Ye humiliated me an' threatened my honor, fish-face!"

Jones didn't seem too stung by the jibe. He answered coolly, "Listen, whelp…I don't care about yer honor. It seems I carried out my plan very well."

_Throck!_

The onlookers all drew in their breath sharply. Jones didn't stumble back at all, but his head was thrown sharply to the side as the belaying pin slammed into the side of his face. He didn't make a sound.

Bree was so enraged that she hardly realized what she was doing. Then, Jones began turning to face her, slowly…far too slowly. His eyes were flaming. A livid mark was appearing on his cheek.

Bree felt it all hit her. She dropped the belaying pin, beginning to back up, her eyes wide as she saw the death in Jones' face. But Jones snaked out a tentacle, grasping her arm tightly, cutting off the blood flow. Bree gasped, realizing how foolishly she had acted. Then, desperate, she sank her fangs into Jones' tentacle.

Jones grunted, instinctively letting go. Bree turned and fled.

Jones was after her, his peg leg hitting the deck hard. But the anger he was feeling seemed to lend aid to his limbs and a strange agility.

Bree ran hard, knowing that on a ship of limited space there was no way for her to evade Jones. No one made a move to stop her and the crew all backed away, knowing this was not their fight.

Jones still had the belaying pin in his tentacle. He clutched it hard, his eyes burning with vicious hatred. _I'll flay the hide from 'er back!_

Bree slid towards the bow, flying up the stairs and trying to get away, dodging either side of the wheel, trying desperately to keep away from Jones. But he seemed to be just behind her, keeping up easily. He actually had hold of her arm but she managed to yank herself free. All the while she was crying out inwardly _What have I done?_

Bree dodged around barrels and ropes, tripping over a pile of tackle and falling heavily. She managed to wriggle free, kicking at Jones as he came after her. Bree gave vent to a cry, a cry of desperation. She at last reached the side, vaulting over the railing.

But Jones had moved quicker than bargained for. He caught Bree by the back of her jerkin, hauling her roughly back over. He threw her down and then heaved her back up savagely, snarling into her face, "Ye need to learn how to use a belayin' pin properly, missy! Let me show ye!"

And with that, he threw the belaying pin from his tentacle to his hand and commenced with a cruel beating.


	3. Heartache: story 2

Ok, mates. Soupkitchen asked me to do one where another girl goes onto the Dutchman, so I took a crack at it. She also requested that I do one of Jones staying on land too long but…smirk ya'll will have to wait.

Bree kicked over a chest, banging down on the lock with her sword hilt. She threw the lid open, searching through the contents. Nothing of value here…just a mess of papers. She turned from it, going to the cot in the corner. Surely this little sloop's captain had something valuable…some money, maybe a bit of jewelry.

Bree leaned over the cot to look in the corner. Suddenly, she lost her balance and fell onto the hard mattress. She landed on something hard and bumpy. A soft cry was heard. Scrambling up, Bree threw the covers from the cot. Her eyes went wide.

A young woman, only a year or two older than herself, was lying in the cot, her hands over her head. She screamed, "No! Don't hurt me!"

Bree felt compassion fill her. She made it a point to not kill children or females. She knew they couldn't fight back, even if she could. Bree put her hand on the young woman's shoulder, speaking in a soft voice, "It's all right…I'll get you out of here."

The woman looked up, seeing Bree. In the dim light, all that was visible of Bree's face were her fangs and the brutal scars on her cheeks. The woman, unable to contain her fear, gave a shrill scream.

The door to the cabin burst open. Bree threw the blanket over the woman and sat down, muffling the woman's cries. Jimmylegs entered, searching the room. He looked at Bree, snarling, "Restin', are we, brat? Up on yer 'unkers, whelp! Cap'n's waitin' for us all!"

Bree gulped, making up an excuse, "I…er…I'm wounded…gimme a minute to recover…it hurts!" She could hear how weak her reason sounded.

Jimmylegs went to Bree and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her up. The woman underneath Bree could be heard gasping from breath. Jimmylegs threw the covers aside, seeing the woman. He turned, striking Bree hard across the face, "Tryin' to help a fellow female, eh?" He hauled the other woman up, leering at her, "Well well, this 'un looks like a proper lady!"

The young woman was sobbing as the monster leered at her. She tried to struggle, but was too weak. She screamed, "You will all pay! My father will have your heads!"

Bree was grabbed by the back of the neck as Jimmylegs hauled both girls out. He threw Bree aside.

Bree scrambled out, wiping away blood as she watched Jones turn his attention to Jimmylegs. His pale blue eyes fell on the young woman. They narrowed, and he snarled at Jimmylegs, "What is this?"

Jimmylegs answered, "Young woman, sir. She was in the cap'n's cabin. Miss Bree was tryin' to hide 'er."

Jones turned his eyes on Bree, who met them defiantly, "I know ye'll just kill 'er!"

The woman wailed in terror. Jones flicked a tentacle in annoyance, "Quiet." He couldn't help but notice how beautiful the young woman was. She had long brown hair that fell to her waist and her eyes were dark. Her form was shapely and feminine…not like Bree's…Bree had a form, but only slightly, and it was hidden by her boy's clothes.

But he also noticed how this girl had no spirit. She was simply weeping piteously as she hung in Jimmylegs' grasp. Bree had fought like a wild beast, giving as good as she got. He might as well kill this woman now. They had no use for her. She wouldn't work like Bree.

"Kill 'er."

Two screams were heard. One from the mouth of the woman, and the other from Bree, "No!"

Bree had her sword out and snarled, "I won't let you!"

Jones went and stood in front of the girl, "How would ye stop me, whelp?"

Bree didn't back away, "What kind of a man are ye? Ye'd kill a defenseless girl? Coward!"

Jones snarled at her, reaching out with his claw and gripping the girl's sword arm. The sword fell from her nerveless hand. The crew chuckled cruelly as Jones turned away, shrugging, "Fine…she's under yer care, Miss Bree." He turned to the young woman, "Thank the kind whelp, Miss…ye're sentenced to a life aboard this ship!"

Bree and the young woman sat in the hold. Bree had managed to fend off the crewmembers who were coming below to gawk at the young woman.

"I'm sorry…" Bree was saying, but the woman cut her off.

"You should be! Thanks to you I'm _trapped_ on this ship!"

Bree felt tears prick her eyes. She was right. But she put her arm around her shoulders, "I'm sorry…but we'll figure out-"

The young woman gasped, pushing Bree's arm away, "Get off of me! You're no better than the rest of them! A pirate…that's what you are! Once my father comes out looking for me, you'll hang with the rest of them!"

Bree scooted into the corner, knowing she had no right to retort. She had just sentenced another innocent girl to the living hell she now lived.

Things never eased up between Christine, the young woman, and Bree. Christine was a snob by nature, looking down on Bree and thinking of her as one would a flea-infested dog. Bree took it all in silence, thinking she deserved it.

But Christine possessed another despicable quality. She was a flirt…not that being a flirt is bad, but in her case, she was a _terrible_ flirt. And she was gaining confidence. She claimed to hate all of the crewmembers, but she noticed that they were paying special attention to her as none of them had seen a proper lady in over one hundred years. Clanker, Bootstrap and Jones seemed to be the only ones not caring what happened to her.

Christine led them all on, even purposefully tearing the skirt of her dress to show quite a bit of her thigh. Bree became quickly disgusted with this behavior. Contempt for Christine soon replaced the pity. This girl was _enjoying _the attention she got, even if she would never go with any of the men.

And then it happened…

Bree wasn't allowed to fight this day, as they were all afraid she would try something new. So she stood at the railing, watching. Christine stood close by, watching it all haughtily. The young woman vainly spoke, "Have you ever seen them fight so fiercely?"

Bree shook her head honestly, "No! Never."

Christine blew a bored sigh, saying, "They're all trying to impress me…of course, I wouldn't expect you to realize that. I'm sure you've never had a man court you. He'd have to be blind or forced."

Bree actually grinned, "I know…lucky, ain't I?"

Stunned by Bree's cheery reply, Christine turned back to the battle. Then she drew in her breath, speaking, "I say…isn't that Captain Jones?"

Bree looked to where she pointed, "Aye, so 'tis. Why?"

Christine put her hand on her neck in a dainty gesture, her lips in a thoughtful pout, "He certainly is a skilled fighter…"

Bree answered in spite of herself, "Aye, he is a good warrior…"

Christine drummed her pale fingers on the railing, "Strong, isn't he? Of course, I'm sure he's fighting hard for the same reason as the others. I've noticed…he's been watching me."

Bree's head snapped around so fast that it hurt. Her eyes grew wide.

_"What?"_

Christine grinned cruelly at the girl, "Oh yes…I'm sure he's going to start courting me any time now. He seems to be the only one with any manners. But it's no surprise. I can tame any man with one look."

Bree's heart was tightening with every word Christine spoke. _No…no, NO!_

"He wouldn't!"

Christine smirked, "Of course he would. After being exposed to you, I'm sure he's relieved to be in the presence of a proper lady. I can buy my way out."

Bree snarled, "Love hurt him! He'd never fall in love again!" _Not with you!_

Christine didn't look at Bree as she spoke, "With me he would. Every man I've ever met has fallen in love with me."

Bree muttered under her breath, "I suppose they never spoke with ye."

Bree watched as the crew came back over onto the _Dutchman_, carrying spoils. Several threw greetings to Christine, and some gave Bree a pat on the back as one would a comrade. Clanker stopped and gave Bree an ever-so slight hug, then cuffed her lightly.

Bree turned to see Jones walking towards his cabin. Then she heard it. A high pitched "Captain!"

Bree turned, only to have Christine brush by her and follow Jones into his cabin. Bree wondered why her temples were so hot…_no…no, I'm not angry…_

She _was _angry.

Christine had let one side of her dress slip from her shoulders, giving her the look of a Tortuga wench. Now was her chance to leave this ship! And a chance to cause that little whelp some pain. Obviously the girl was disturbed by Christine's words. She swung the door to the cabin closed, leaning against it. Jones turned to her, seeing her. He didn't feel anything as he looked at her. He simply spoke, "What?"

Christine came closer to him, brushing her arm across his chest. She looked up at him, her long lashes fluttering as she cooed, "You were wonderful out there…such a strong man!"

Jones looked down at her, confusion filling him. _What's she doin'?_

Bree clenched her fists as she watched the door close, her claws actually drawing blood as they sank into her palm. _I'll kill her!_

But why was she feeling this way? _I don't care about Jones! I want him to die! Those two would make a good couple!_

But she knew she would rather die than see them together. Rather _die!_

Jones stepped away, but Christine followed him. Jones growled in surprise, "Missy, what are ye doin'?"

Christine went up on her toes, putting her left arm around Jones' neck and whispering, "Come now, Captain, I know you've been watching me…and I've been watching you. I've met a real man at last! Master of the seas, they call you…"

Jones watched in horror as her face neared his. He spoke in a choked whisper, "Girl, ye're mistaken…and the men…" Then he spoke without thinking, "_Bree…_"

Christine shook her head, "Bree? That little rat? Is she your little wench? You could do better…you could have me!"

This was too much for Jones. His feelings were welling up. He didn't feel anything for Bree…_I don't think I do…_

_But I don't feel anything for this woman!_

Jones pushed her roughly away, roaring, "Wench! Get outta my sight! I'll flay the hide from yer back!"

Christine was startled. A man had just turned her down! She spread her arms out, looking injured, "Are you so blind that you think that little dog out there is a passable girl? You can't love her…"

Jones snarled, "I don't…"

Christine came closer again, "Good…a man like you has more sense than to love a worm like that when you…" She was cut short as Jones struck her savagely across the cheek, "_Don't call her that!_"

Christine was knocked out by the blow. Jones stood there, shaking in rage. He didn't understand what he was feeling. Wrath had built inside of him when Christine had called Bree those things. _Bree's the real lady! She's strong…brave…this girl is just…_He glared down in hatred.

Christine woke later. Bree was sitting in the corner of the hold, watching the woman with a satisfied eye. As Christine lifted her head, Bree snarled, "Well, didn't go accordin' to plan, did it? Got a nasty lump there…I don't suppose he kissed it to make it better?"

Christine scoffed at the girl, "I suppose you could do better?"

Bree turned, lifting her jerkin and baring her back. Christine gasped at all the scars crisscrossing Bree's tanned skin. Bree turned back around, "I did better long ago."

Then Bree got up and hauled Christine up. She ignored the woman's groans of protest and pushed her up the stairs to the deck. Going to the side, Bree looked over, seeing that the boat was in place.

Bree turned to Christine, taking a skin of water from her shoulders and giving it to the woman, "Cap'n's lettin' ye go. Ye're to go in the lifeboat. An' he told me to tell ye he doesn't care what happens to ye. He just wants ye out of 'is sight."

Christine looked angry. She took the skins, then slapped Bree. Bree laughed, "That the best ye've got?" Then she full out punched the woman.

Christine crumpled on the deck, and Bree hauled her body into the boat and lowered it.

"Have a safe voyage!"

Bree sat at the side, drumming her claws on the deck. She heard the familiar clunk of the Captain's footsteps. She looked up expectantly.

Jones looked down at Bree. He felt…like he should apologize.

"Bree…"

Bree looked away, asking, "Did ye like 'er?"

Jones felt his stomach tighten. Bree looked hurt. But as she looked at him again, he could see veiled hatred.

"No…I liked 'er 'bout as much as I like ye, whelp!" _That's a lie…ye don't completely hate Bree…_

Bree looked away, "Fine…"

Jones knelt, softly but firmly slapping Bree to face him. She looked up at him.

"I'll tell ye this, though…I'd rather have _you_ on this ship."

Bree felt her heart swell.

Even if neither would acknowledge their feelings, Jones would never feel for anyone else.


	4. Liar's Dice: story 3

Ok, Danni submitted the idea that Bree would try gambling her way off the ship and losing. So here it is. This takes place before Bree escaped for the first time. She and Davy don't know their feelings yet, if they are even there yet. Thanks for the ideas, mates! Keep 'em comin'! Oh, and I have a bit more of Clanker in this for Fly Like a Blueberry Pie. Lurve ya, mate! XD (Oh, by the way, a line that Bree says in here is in honor of a line Davy had in the Liar's Dice game against Will that was cut. Ye'll have to guess which one!)

Bree had been thinking over this new plan for the last month. Her mind was always working. She had to get off this ship!

As Bree sat in the hold, watching Clanker, Koleniko and Maccus playing Liar's Dice, her mind began to turn. Bootstrap had told her they gambled with years of service. But…what if Bree could gamble with something else? She remembered the conversation she had had with Bootstrap last night.

"Is there any way to gamble for freedom?"

"Not exactly," Bootstrap had answered, "But Will once gambled with 'is soul. He hadn't sworn an oath, and he wagered his soul." His eyes went slightly distant. Bree remembered now. Bootstrap had saved his son's soul by substituting his own. Bree put her arm around Bootstrap's shoulders, comforting him, "Ah, well…I suppose it's worth a shot to try to gain me freedom."

Bree moved closer to the game area, sitting slightly behind Clanker. She looked over his shoulder, saying, "Hurry up…I'm goin' to play next."

Clanker glanced over his shoulder at her, raising his lips in a half snarl, "Ye'll wait yer turn like everyone else, missy!"

Bree smirked, "Ye can tell that to Davy Jones…I'm playin' him."

Everyone stopped. Bootstrap sighed. He had seen this before. He didn't want to see it again.

Penrod leaped up, cackling, "Challenge the Cap'n? Are ye mad, missy?"

Bree grinned, "Aye…mad. Now hurry up an' go tell the Cap'n I'm goin' to play 'im at Liar's Dice. _Now._"

Penrod was still cackling as he hopped away, going to take Bree's message to his captain.

Clanker and the others cleared away their game. Clanker passed by Bree, stooping and putting his hand on her shoulder, "Penrod's right, missy. Ye're mad!" Clanker was one of the few crewmembers who wasn't completely brutal. He had slowly been warming up to the girl, even if he had been the one to nearly smash her legs with his ball and chain. She reminded him of his daughter.

Bree patted Clanker's cheek stiffly, "I'm Bad Luck Bree, mate. I do what I please."

Clanker snarled, cuffing her, but moved away. He went to stand by Bootstrap, whispering, "Is she always like this, mate?"

Bootstrap nodded sadly, "Aye…'tis a sickness with young'uns these days."

Penrod soon returned, and the crew could all hear Davy Jones following him across the deck, his bad leg thunking against the wood, making a hollow sound not unlike thunder. Bree felt her skin prickle slightly, but she swallowed her fear. This was her shot at freedom…if Jones allowed her to play for it.

Davy Jones came down to the hold, his eyes scanning the crew. Penrod hadn't told him what was going on, but he guessed it when he saw how Bree was standing apart from the others. She met his gaze, determination on her face.

Jones came forward, narrowing his pale blue eyes at the girl, "I suppose this is yer doin', whelp?"

Bree spread her arms, grinning as she mocked him, "My _doin'_? I haven't _done_ nothin'…but I will."

Jones made a scornful face but said nothing. He folded his arms across his chest expectantly.

Bree sat down, motioning to the cups and the dice set out for them, "I suppose ye've been challenged afore, Cap'n?"

Jones spat at her feet, "Ah, so another foolish pup is askin' to set their luck against me, eh?" He laughed hoarsely, "With a name like yers, _Bad Luck_ Bree, I'd expect ye to be more careful."

Bootstrap winced in the back as laughter rose from the crew. None of them had heard her full name, but now the irony shone on the whole situation. And the scene was almost pitiful in a way. Aye, this was no show of strength, but setting a girl against Davy Jones in anything was unfair. Even a girl as tough as Bree.

But Bree didn't show her fear or intimidation. She knew very well that Jones would most likely scorn her proposition and leave it at that…or his pride would get the better of him and he would accept. Well, worth a try…

"I'll play ye…for my freedom."

Jones laughed harshly. His crew laughed dutifully along with him. Jones spoke with a snarl in his voice, "Why would I risk somethin' like that?"

Bree shrugged, "I thought ye were the sea…fearless…all powerful. This doesn't sound very characteristic, does it? What a man is willin' to risk or not to risk shows the true measure of 'is soul."

Jones was stung by her words. She was right. Her words reflected what he himself believed. But he kept calm, speaking, "So…what are yer stakes? If I win…what do I get?"

Bree crossed her arms, "Other than the satisfaction o' beatin' me? I dunno…ye decide." She knew this was suicide to say…who knew what cruelty Jones would cook up should she lose? But it was worth the risk. That was the measure of her soul.

Bootstrap was willing Bree to stop speaking. _Just take it back! Back out now!_

Jones smiled grimly. Well, this _would_ be worth it! A chance to show true domination over Bree should she lose. And he knew just what to wager.

"Well, Miss Bree…after I name me terms, we'll see if ye're still willin' to challenge me."

Raising his claw for dramatic effect, Jones paused before speaking loud enough for all to hear, "Should ye lose, I'll tie a rope to yer neck an' drag ye from the bow o' the _Dutchman_ for a whole day."

Bree felt her mouth go dry. The crew all laughed sadistically. Bree's thoughts raced. _Fool! What have ye done! Shouldn't ye have known he'd do somethin' this cruel?_

_But I might win…and win my freedom._

That was worth the risk.

_I'd be away from him._

Bree sat down, signaling that she was taking him up on his offer. Whispers broke out. The crewmates were all chuckling, settling down to watch.

Jones sat down slowly. Bree couldn't help but notice how it reminded her of a cobra coiling down, readying to lunge for the killing blow. He smiled cruelly at the girl, "Well, missy…ye've showed us all how brave…an' how stupid ye are."

Bree retaliated, "Bravery is a virtue…don't know if ye'd be expected to know that, seein' ye don't have any."

Jones laughed hoarsely, amused by her answer. He wrapped his elongated fore finger around the cup and lifted it, shaking up the dice inside. Bree picked up her own cup. She noticed that her hand was shaking, the dice clattering. Then she forced her hand to move, shaking the cup. Then, simultaneously, both gamblers slammed the cups upside-down on the tabletop.

Bree's heart beat hard as she lifted her cup slightly, revealing her dice only to herself. She had two threes, one two and two fives. She bit her lip, looking up at Jones. His eyes were slanted downwards, looking at his own dice. He grinned slightly, glancing back up at Bree. He bet first, "Three fives."

Bree breathed out slowly. She bet, "Four fives."

Jones tried to read her face. He was slightly impressed at how well she masked her reactions. But he glanced back down at his dice. He had two fives and two twos and one three. "Four twos."

Bree continued on with her bet, not catching his bluff, "Five fives."

Jones sensed a slight waver in her voice. He spoke one harsh word, "Liar!"

Bree's mouth went dry. She slowly looked back down at her dice, taking the cup away. Jones revealed his dice.

A loud noise came from the crew as they saw that Bree had been lying. Jones grinned triumphantly, slamming his cup down. Bootstrap groaned. The rest of the crew all cheered rowdily. Clanker slunk to the side, sighing sadly.

Bree felt tears of disappointment clog her vision. Several trickled down her cheeks. Jones stood, grabbing Bree by the front of her jerkin and throwing her to Jimmylegs, who took hold of the back of her neck, "Bring that rat up on deck! Time for her to carry out 'er punishment!"

Bree stood at the bow, a rope around her neck. She had been stripped of her boots, her belts, her sash and her jerkin. She bowed her head in sorrow. The day was windy…the ship would be moving fast. And the water would be cold.

Jimmylegs slapped her head upright, binding her wrists and then her feet. He whirled her around to face the railing. He gripped the back of her neck, hissing into her ear, "Tell th' fishies hello!"

Turning to look at Jones, Jimmylegs raised and eyebrow. Jones nodded once.

Bree was pushed over the side, the long rope trailing after her. She cried out, but her cry faded and ended as she hit the water with a hard, flat slap.

The crew all laughed cruelly, peering over the side. Bree couldn't be seen. She was pinned to the hull of the ship by the water. Jokes were cracked and cheers were heard. Then the crew went about their normal duties.

Jones stayed, peering over the side. He grinned. _Serves the whelp right_.

Bootstrap waited for Jones to leave. Then he made his way to the bow, his face creased with pain for his young friend. He knew she was in pain right now. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Bree's mouth was forced open by the rushing water. Water was forcing itself into her lungs, and she felt her throat aching. Her scarred back was pressed hard against sharp barnacles that had grown on the hull of the ship. She was pressed to the hull by the force of the rushing water, unable to move at all.

Breathing was not an issue, but the girl was in pain nonetheless. She _wanted_ to drown. She _hated _Jones! She swore to herself she would somehow escape him…and kill him.

_This day is goin' to last far too long…_

Next day, Bree was hauled back up after the ship was in a calm. Her body was limp, not moving. Blood was seeping from the wounds on her back, arms and legs. Her head lolled at an awkward angle, and her eyes rolled into the back of the head.

Jones allowed Bootstrap through to Bree. He took her lightly, laying her out on the deck, gently pumping water from her. Bree slowly came awake, rolling over onto her side and retching out bile and water. She gagged, coughing and crying at the same time.

The crew all jeered, nudging one another. Bootstrap ignored them all, continuing to work on Bree.

Clanker pushed his way through, going and kneeling down beside Bree. He slowly levered her up and lifted her into his arms. He turned, going down to the hold, Bootstrap following him.

Jones watched them, not stopping them. Bree had had her punishment. He was sure she would never try to outwit him again. He had her figured.

Never had he been so wrong in his entire existence.


	5. Savoir in Disguise: story 4

Soupkitchen asked me to write a story where one of the crewmembers starts to hit on Bree. I chose Ratlin, because he doesn't have much about him. Also, I couldn't bring myself to use Clanker (cuz Fly Like a Blueberry Pie would kill me, and I LURVE Clanker), Hadras (cuz he's too stupid to hit on a girl), and most definitely couldn't use Jimmylegs (self explanatory) or Maccus (c'mon, he's Jones' right hand man AND he's too…high an' mighty) so Ratlin it is! Ratlin is the one with all the ship's ropes attached to him. Ratline Ratlin…duh.

Bree's breath whooshed from her body as Quittance threw a punch to her stomach, knocking her flat. She gagged, blood clogging her throat. She spat out the tangy stuff, clawing at the deck. She could faintly hear Bootstrap, Clanker and Hadras shouting out to her, "C'mon, Bree! Ye can take 'im! Get up an' show 'im what ye've got!"

Bree, urged on by her friends, got up slowly, turning to face Quittance again. The surly pirate readied his knotted fist for another blow. This time, when it came, Bree caught his fist in both hands, twisting his arm back, hyper-extending it to the maximum.

Quittance howled in pain. Bree continued pushing, driving Quittance back a few paces. Then Bree swiveled her body around, kicking at the back of the crewmember's knees, causing him to fall heavily.

Quittance found the girl kneeling on his back, her fingers clutching at his neck as she sought to throttle the life from him, spitting blood at him.

_Ssssnap!_

Bree gave out a sharp bark as Jimmylegs' bullwhip snaked forward, whipping around her neck and jerking her back. Any mortal's neck would have been snapped, but her undead body's bones stayed firm. Bree fell hard on her back, clawing at her throat.

Jimmylegs hauled Bree up, hissing onto the back of her neck, "Well, pretty one, ye've found yerself a playmate?"

Bree snarled up at Jimmylegs with her remaining breath, "He started it!"

Quittance managed to get up, glaring at Bree, his pride hurt with the fact that a girl had beaten him, "Ye little rat…I'll get ye, see if I don't!"

Jimmylegs cracked his whip close to Quittance's face, snarling, "Shut it, Master Quittance." He looked about at the rest of the crew, "An' back to work, all of ye!"

Bree wrenched her arm free of Jimmylegs' claw, moving away with the rest of the crew. Bootstrap fell into step beside her, "Are ye hurt?"

Bree probed at a loose tooth, "Just a bit bruised…I'll live." She spat out some more blood. _Fightin' ain't half as bad as workin'…_

Bree sat on a coil of rope, her head slumped onto her chest. She was exhausted. Everyone was busy watching a distant ship battle between a naval frigate and another ship. Bree normally enjoyed watching a good ship battle, but she was too tired.

Bootstrap sat near Bree, keeping an eye on her. If the captain started to look towards the girl, Bootstrap would wake her.

Bootstrap stifled a yawn, looking about. Suddenly, his eye caught the figure of Ratlin, the broad-shouldered crewmember covered in ship's rigging and timber. He was standing towards the edge of the crowd, his eyes on Bree. Bootstrap immediately felt uncomfortable about it. That look on Ratlin's ugly face told him one thing; Ratlin was interested in the girl. Bree was pretty for the type of life she was leading. She had lean, hard muscles and browned skin, but she was still pretty. And she might have no real curves, but when a vulgar pirate such as Ratlin had sailed for almost a century without so much as a glimpse of a female, any girl would seem desirable.

Bootstrap shifted, silently moving closer to Bree. If Ratlin tried anything, he would answer to Bootstrap. Best warn the girl.

Bootstrap tapped Bree awake, "Mate?"

Bree awoke, yawning and stretching out her arms, "Ah…'ello, Bootstrap. What's up?"

Bootstrap gestured towards Ratlin, who had gone back to watching the fight now that Bree was awake, "Wanted ye to know…that fellow's been watchin' ye. Ye might want to keep an eye out for trouble from 'im."

Bree narrowed her eyes, "I will…thanks, mate." She fingered her dagger hilt. Then she looked up, "Ship battle?"

"Aye…don't see a clear winner yet," Bootstrap answered, patting Bree's leg as a signal for her to get up. The two stood, going over to the railing.

Bree stood between Koleniko and Maccus, watching the battle with interest. She suddenly felt a slight tug on the end of her jerkin. Angling her head back, she could see Ratlin, not looking at her, but right behind her…too close for comfort. She dismissed it.

It happened again. Only this time, she could feel claws slowly trace up her side. She wriggled slightly, and the claws withdrew.

Bootstrap was watching Ratlin closely. He tapped Clanker's shoulders. The burly crewmember turned, touching the tip of his wide brimmed hat, "Aye, mate?"

Bootstrap whispered out the side of his mouth, "Ye see Ratlin o'er there? 'e's been watching Bree a bit too closely."

Clanker's single eye set on Ratlin. He nodded, "Aye…now that ye mention it, he wanted to trade hammocks wi' me. I thought it was 'cause Hadras would always end up draped over 'im, but I guess it was because he wanted to be in the hammock next to Bree. 'E's been oglin' her…don't worry…" Here he cracked his knuckles, flexing his powerful muscles. He was a big fellow, and could hold his own with the sturdy Ratlin, "If 'e touches 'er, I'll flay 'im." Clanker was one of Bree's friends. He wouldn't want to see anything happen to her.

Hadras, who had just recently joined the two, spoke rather loudly, "Make sure nothin' happens to who?"

Clanker winced, covering Hadras' mouth, "Hush! It's Ratlin. Bootstrap says 'e's oglin' Bree. I noticed it too."

Hadras, after Clanker's clumsy paw was removed from his mouth, said in a loud whisper, "Oh…does oglin' hurt?"

Bootstrap sighed as Clanker shook his head, "No, mate. It means, 'e's gawkin' at 'er a lot. Like 'e fancies 'er."

Hadras spoke a bit too loudly again, "Oh, Ratlin's mean! Bree wouldn't like him! An' I bet he ain't a very good kisser eith-whoaaaaaaugh!! What are ye doin'?"

Clanker had Hadras around the waist, carrying him down into the hold. He dropped him down the stairs, calling down, "Ye goin' to be quiet?"

Hadras straightened his head which had gone askew in the rough way he had been handled, "I be quiet…hrmph…I offer me good honest opinion an' they throw me down 'ere like I said somethin' stupid…see if I ever tell 'em my great idea 'bout hirin' pink bunnies and Saxons fer the crew."

The day passed as normal. Bree got into another fight, was dragged into the captain's cabin and sentenced to ten strokes of the cat. A light sentence.

But Bree really knew she was in trouble when the time came.

Jimmylegs frog marched the girl to the gratings, directing Crash and Ratlin to hold her arms. Ripping the jerkin from her back, Jimmylegs prepared the cat o' nine tails.

Ratlin had hold of Bree's wrist. He was staring at her face, a sick, hungry look in his pale blue eyes. Bree glanced at him, not taking any notice. Then…she felt his claw begin to slip down her arm. Her skin crawled.

It reached her elbow…so cold and slimy…

It reached her shoulder…he was rubbing at her skin, and it made her want to vomit.

It crawled down to her back…walking down to her lower torso…

Bree was about to rip away when she heard Jimmylegs bark out, "Ratlin! Git yer paws offa her back unless ye want a manicure!"

The claw snaked back up to her wrists.

Then the ten strokes commenced.

"Bree, darlin'…ye've got to stop doin' this sort o' thing afore ye have no skin left on yer back," Bootstrap said, laying strips of seawater soaked cloth on Bree's bloody back. Bree chuckled painfully, wincing, "Aye, but would that stop me from bein' flogged? No…Jones just finds ways to cause me misery."

Bootstrap shrugged, "Still…ye need to stop provokin' 'im."

Bree wiped her bloodied nose, sighing, "Aye…I'll stop doin' it…maybe he can get over seein' my face every day. Seems that's enough to make 'im hate me."

Bootstrap smiled at the girl, then heard a noise behind him. He turned, expecting to see Clanker, who had been bringing some more bandages. But it was Ratlin. Bootstrap was instantly on his guard. The crewmember was sidling past him, grinning and saying, "Hello, Turner…doctorin' up Miss Bree, are ye?"

"Aye…" Bootstrap tucked up the corners of Bree's hammock to hide the sides of her torso. Bree had clenched her arms across her chest when she heard Ratlin's voice. She shuddered slightly, then went still, pretending to be asleep as she listened to the two speaking.

"Need any…help?"

"No, I'm about done. Cap'n wouldn't be pleased to find ye helpin' me anyway."

"Ah, let 'im be un'appy. Gimme that rag."

Bree heard a slight struggle. Ratlin was obviously trying to wrestle the rag from Bootstrap. Bree buried her face in her hammock, praying that nothing happened.

Just at the moment that Bootstrap had obviously recovered the rag, Ratlin's claw came down on Bree's back…_hard_. Bree's eyes popped open as his claws sank into her fresh scars, tearing open the slits. She bit the canvas of her hammock, stifling a cry as her back arched upwards. Obviously, this was Ratlin's desired affect. He slipped his hand under her as she arched upwards. Bree came down too late, and Ratlin's hand was groping at her lower torso.

"Hey, quit that!"

Bree felt Ratlin's claw ripped out from under her, scoring deep marks in her skin. Still…that was better than him touching her. She sent out a mental gasp of gratitude towards Bootstrap.

"Bootstrap, there weren't any clean canvases, an' I had to borrow some o' Hadras'…" Bree recognized Clanker's voice. The crewmember had walked in and trailed off as he saw Ratlin.

Stepping forward, Clanker spoke in a harsher voice, "What's all this?" He noticed the blood on Ratlin's claws.

Ratlin turned, eyes narrowed, "Tryin' to help the poor lass…bandages, eh?"

Clanker glared at Ratlin, remembering what Bootstrap had said, "Since when 'ave ye wanted to help Bree?"

"She's a shipmate. Anythin' wrong with wantin' to help 'er?" Ratlin answered, his eyes straying to Bree, who was writhing under his stare. Bootstrap took the canvas covering and draped it over the girl's scarred back. Clanker shouldered Ratlin out of the way, shooting him a glare.

Ratlin was about to protest, when Maccus' voice could be heard, "Ratlin! Get yer useless carcass up 'ere!"

Ratlin growled, obeying reluctantly.

Once he was gone, Clanker bent next to the hammock, his hand on Bree's shoulder, "Bree…ye all right, missy?"

Bree nodded painfully, speaking in a strained voice, "Th…thanks…"

Clanker touched Bree's cheek in a comforting way, "He won't touch ye, miss…I promise."

Bootstrap nodded, "I'll have the hide from 'is back if he tries to lay a hand on ye again."

Bree looked around at her friends, "Thank ye both so much, mates…I dunno what I'd do without ye."

"Probably get bored real fast," came a voice. They all turned to see Koleniko enter the hold. He grinned at Bree, "Don't worry, little missy. Ratlin was a womanizer in 'is day. After a while it should pass, mark me words."

Bree smiled appreciatively at him, "Thanks, mate. I hope ye're right." She flexed her claws, "I think I could take 'im if he tried anythin'."

It was customary for the crew to have a short time in the evening to sing shanties, gamble, drink or tell stories. They were all assembled in the hold, some in their hammocks, lazily listening to stories, some in the corner playing a game of dice, and some downing bottles of some form of fiery alcohol. Bree herself was fiddling with one of her mussed braids. She plucked out sea creatures, still not used to the feelings of little animals crawling all over her.

It wasn't usual for Jones to attend the evening gathering, but this night was different. He liked to keep an eye on the crew. Unexpected arrivals kept them alert and behaved…at least for a cursed crew.

The captain leaned against the stairs in the corner, observing his crew. Twins was playing a game of dice with Crash, Old Haddy and Oglivey. Jimmylegs was plaiting some new leather strips for his whip while carrying on a conversation with Penrod. The other crewmembers were sleeping, except the group in the corner. Clanker and Hadras were sitting up against the wall, sharing a bottle and discussing the existence of Saxons, a subject Hadras seemed to obsess over. Koleniko was talking with Bootstrap about an unimportant matter.

Jones' calculating eyes caught sight of the hunched form of Bree sitting between Koleniko and Clanker, not speaking or seeming to pay attention. She was picking barnacles from her hair. Jones narrowed his eyes. She seemed much quieter than usual…usually the crew requested a song when they weren't busy teasing her.

Then Jones noted another figure standing not too far away from the group. He saw the lean figure of Ratlin hidden in the corner, only his eyes visible. Jones followed the crewmember's gaze. His hackles prickled.

Ratlin was staring straight at Bree. A sick glow was coming from the crewmember's watery eyes. Jones recognized it. Back in the days before his downfall, he had seen his crew look at a port tavern wench that way. Lustful and wicked, full of perverted desire.

Jones felt a type of rage well up in him. It offended him that anyone should look at Bree that way! Bree was no wench. Far from it. She would kill any man that tried to make advances. But then…Jones thought he himself would kill any man who attempted to lay hands on Bree. Why?

Because Bree was a spirit he wanted to break…but he wanted to break her in a way that didn't involve something so horrible. And he wanted to break it himself.

_And I would never lay claims to 'er that way…_

Things came to a head the next day.

Bree was never sure how she had ended up in the brig. It might have been because of that incident with Jimmylegs' whip…but Jones was always looking for ways to break her.

Bree hated being locked in the brig. There was nothing to do! Bree wasn't normally one who could handle sitting in one spot for too long with nothing to do.

But this day proved different; there would be too much to do.

Bree looked up as someone entered. She couldn't tell who it was in the wet darkness…someone with broad shoulders and long growths on his back.

Someone who had pale, burning eyes.

"Well well…our little tiger caged up agin?"

Bree's eyes widened in alarm.

"Ratlin!"

The crewmember smiled unpleasantly, "Ye sound outta breath, darlin'…do I have that effect on ye?" He winked at her.

Bree shivered, backing up to the very corner of the brig, "Go away…"

Ratlin shook his head, "Tsk tsk, Bree, m'girl. I just came here to cheer ye up."

Bree kept her eyes on him. What was he doing? He was jiggling at the lock…he was using his claw…or was he…

Bree had always thought the most terrifying sound she could ever hear was the roar of the Kraken…but she was wrong. The most terrifying sound was the sound of the lock snapping open as Ratlin picked at it.

The door swung open with an ominous creak. Ratlin stood, one arm on the bars. He grinned wickedly at Bree, "Ah…that's better, darlin'."

Bree tried to scrunch herself in as far as possible into the corner, but failed. Ratlin walked right in, putting his hands against the wall either side of Bree's shoulders, trapping her.

Bree opened her mouth, hissing, "I warn ye…don't ye touch me, or I'll-"

"Hush, girl…I won't tell a soul. Cap'n'll never know." He wrapped his cold, hard claws around her neck, caressing her throat in a sickening way.

Realization finally struck Bree. He was really going to do this to her! Cold horror filled her, and she could feel Ratlin's claws working at the collar of her shirt. She began struggling, only to have Ratlin seize her wrists in his cold hands.

Bree opened her mouth to scream, but was muffled as Ratlin kissed her. With a sob of horror, Bree wrenched herself away, eyes huge. She fumbled for her dagger, drawing it and crying out, "Don't come any closer! Get away, scum!"

Ratlin, fired by his lust, managed to grab her wrist and hooked his claws around the front of Bree's shirt, pulling her closer to him, kissing her savagely again. He sought to rip the jerkin from her, trying to undo her belt. Bree punched and clawed at him for all she was worth, screaming shrilly. She began calling out to anyone, "Bootstrap! Clanker! Hadras!"

Ratlin had ripped the jerkin from her, and now sought to strip her of her shirt, spitting out blood as he hissed at the girl, "Hold still an' quit yer screamin'!"

_"Jones!"_

Ratlin shoved Bree down on the ground, kneeling on her, his knee on her left thigh as he groped at her, his hands hard and rough. Bree bit down on his hand, fear making her strong. Ratlin, too fired by his passion, slammed her down, still working to strip her.

Bree had been fighting hard, but Ratlin had been giving her repeated blows to the head, and she felt her vision leaving her and her strength ebbing.

_No! Oh please, no! I've lost everything…my freedom, my old ship, my life…please don't let me lose this too!_

It was at the exact moment that Ratlin had succeeded in wrestling the belt from Bree's waist that he was thrust forward savagely, his chest smacking into Bree's cheek, though she didn't feel it. Ratlin was hauled back sharply and whirled around. The crewmember's face turned from passionate outrage to cold horror as he stared into the dangerously cloudy blue eyes of Davy Jones himself.

Ratlin didn't speak. Jones didn't give him a chance to. Gripping the crewmember by the neck with his claw, he brought his face close to Ratlin's, speaking in a voice like a low rumble of thunder, "What…were ye _doin'_ to her?"

Of course he already knew the answer, but he was nonetheless outraged.

Ratlin began babbling out excuses, tears of pain coursing down his cheeks, "Please, sir! I was only havin' a bit o' fun! I wasn't really gonna hurt the whelp-"

Jones slammed Ratlin into the bars of the brig, roaring in his face and striking him repeatedly about the head, "_Ye bleedin' well caused 'er pain she'll never be able to ferget!"_

Ratlin shut his eyes tightly, feeling the claw tightening as the blows rained down on him. He choked out with his remaining breath, "Mercy…I'm sorry…I'll never…never do it again…on me oath…" He fainted dead away.

Jones thrust the limp body from him, watching it crumple on the floor. He stood there, his chest heaving with wrath. How could Ratlin have done that to Bree? The poor girl…

Jones felt something press against his leg. He looked down. Bree had her arms wrapped around Jones' good leg, clinging to it, her cheek pressed against his thigh. She was sobbing, tears and blood dampening her face.

Jones, feeling somewhat strange, reached down and touched Bree's forehead with his claw. The girl looked up at him, her face beginning to bruise from the violent attempt. She had a look of gratitude in her eyes. She spoke in a failing voice, thick with tears, "Th…thank you!"

The captain slowly disentangled the girl from his leg, stepping away. Her eyes never left him. She stayed kneeling, that same look in her eyes. Jones wasn't sure what to make of it. But he stepped forward, raising Bree to her feet. He patted her cheek stiffly, "Next time ye let any man touch ye…I'll have ye flogged." He turned without another word, slung Ratlin's limp form over his shoulder and left the brig.

Bree stayed, tears still flowing from her eyes. A mixture of relief and confusion.

_Why did he save me?_


	6. Storm at Sea: story 5

So this is one I set for meself. I was thinkin'…what if I did a different confession/first kiss scene? So this is it, a much different one, more of an angsty way of the love confession. This picks up from the moment Bree plays her duet with Jones. Oh, and no, there is nothing inappropriate. C'mon, it's _me!_

The fiddle clattered from Bree's hands. Her eyes were wide with horrified realization.

Jones turned, his eyes cold and filled with wrath. He stood, taking a step towards the girl. Bree took a step back, her eyes filling with unexplained tears.

"I'm…I'm sorry…I…I didn't mean-"

Bree was cut off as Jones, moving faster than expected, charged forward, slamming his claw into her throat, gripping her hard and slamming her against the wall.

_Whump!_

Jones was baring his teeth at her, his face fractions from hers as he roared at her, his voice booming out with rage and hatred, "_How dare ye play that song!_"

Bree felt the tears spilling over her cheeks, pain making her go dizzy. Why was this hurting her?

Jones began squeezing, not understanding the rage that was filling him, or the pain that stung at the hole in his chest.

Bree's mouth opened in silent agony, her eyes filled with a type of shock as she tried to form words, gestures, anything to communicate.

At last, a croaking voice forced itself between her quivering lips, still gasping for air.

"Please…please…"

Jones shut his eyes as he continued to squeeze, grinding Bree into the wall, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to the wall beside the girl, clenching his teeth as dampness soaked his cheeks.

_Why? Why did it have to be her?_

"I hate ye…ever since ye came on here…I've hated ye…ye worthless little _whore!_"

He suddenly wrenched her away from the wall, hurling her across the cabin, his voice rising into a vicious roar at the last few words.

Bree spun in the air twice before falling hard, her arms twisting awkwardly. She gave a cry, partly from pain and partly from a type of anguish she didn't understand. Tears refused to stop flowing, and she struggled to rise, but fell back, giving a shuddering sob.

Jones came at her again, grabbing her by the scruff, hauling her up and pulling her to him, gripping her so tightly that he could feel her body against his, and a shiver went through him. He hissed close to her ear, "Draw your sword…_now!_"

He thrust her away from him, and drew his blade, eyes flaming with hatred.

Bree fell back, both arms hanging limply at her sides. She looked up at Jones, pleading silently with him, pain etched into her scarred face.

But she found no mercy. Jones came forward, striking her heavily across the face, roaring out, "_Draw your sword, ye little viper!"_

Bree fell back again, but struggled up, pulling her sword out, fire igniting in her blue eyes, her lips twitching in a snarl.

Jones, not waiting, came forward, swinging out with his blade.

Bree, acting on instinct, raised her sword, blocking the blow, but Jones was so strong and forceful that the tremor in the blade caused the girl to fall back again, crying out in pain as her hands shook from the shock of the blow.

Recovering quickly, Bree ducked away, circling around quickly and leaping out, striking with her hand, claws unsheathed, at Jones' face, going by with a thrust to his torso. Jones roared out as her claws scored across his cheek, digging into one of his tentacles, but he deflected the sword, wrenching it from Bree's grasp. It went spinning across the cabin.

Bree cried out, but Jones went to the blade, hurling it back to the girl, "Fight, ye miserable weasel!"

Bree caught the blade, her hands shaking with fear and anger. She ran forward again, this time feigning a blow to the left but sliding low and striking out at Jones' leg. He grunted in pain as the blade cut through his thigh, and he stumbled slightly, but regained his footing quickly, catching Bree with a heavy cuff to the back of her shoulder.

Bree rolled away quickly, turning and parrying a blow from Jones, growling out in rage, "Ye've never been my captain! Ye've always been a slaver, always been the man I hated! I'll never stop hatin' ye! Ye're a heartless monster!"

Jones struck her across the face again, gritting out, "Ye're a vicious little brat! I should never 'ave let ye live! But death is too good for ye! Ye're a disgrace to the legacy o' piracy!"

Bree ducked to the side again, slamming her hilt upwards and hitting Jones on the jaw, screaming, "All the sea's fury ain't enough to express my hatred! The woman was right to leave ye! Ye're not worthy of anyone's love!"

Jones roared out in pain at her words, grabbing her wrist with his claw, this time aiming his sword towards her torso. He was rewarded with a groan of agony as his blade slid through two of her ribs, and he twisted the hilt cruelly, hissing into her face, "I swear, ye were a monster before ye joined this crew!"

Bree was half mad with the pain as the sword twisted inside of her, and she dropped her blade, grasping at Jones' blade, trying to tug it out of her, blood coating her hands. She screamed out, tears coursing down her face, "_Just kill me! Kill me, please!"_

Jones felt his mind whirling as he pulled her closer to him, teeth bared. What was he feeling? Hatred, so much he could see nothing but the girl's face. Fear and pain and anger were distorting the girl's features.

_Bree…_

"_D'ye realize what ye've done to me?_"

And then, on an impulse that had been waiting to burst out of him for too long, he drew her closer, his claw gripping the collar of her jerkin, pressing her body to his, and took her mouth with his own.

Bree didn't know how to react. She felt his mouth on hers, enveloping her, his arm winding around her waist as he pressed himself as close as it seemed possible to her. Bree felt the tears coursing down, but she let go of the blade, her arms automatically wrapping around Jones' neck as she answered, feeling a type of passion released in her.

A passion like a storm at sea.

Jones, without any thought and without pulling away from the girl, slid one hand down her torso and pulled the blade from her. Bree hardly felt it.

Jones dropped the bloodied sword to the ground, the lifted Bree in his arms, his mouth never leaving hers. He pressed her against the wall, his good hand going to her cheek. He felt blood and tears mixing on her neck, and her tears slid to his mouth, and he could taste the bitterness of the pain she felt. It was the same as his.

The girl's heart was beating hard in her breast, and he could feel it, pressed against his chest as it was. It was as if it were his own heart, and he was sure if he had it, it would be beating just as hard, if not more.

Jones renewed his efforts, relishing the taste of Bree's lips. She was so sweet…everything…everything he had never allowed himself to think…never allowed himself to hope for.

He drew away long enough to whisper her name, almost a question, "_Bree…"_

Bree didn't answer, only pressing her lips to his again.

All the while, both of them, as if sensing the other's thoughts, clung to one another, coated in sweat and blood. Jones' tentacles snaked around Bree's neck, softly stroking her, his claw pressed to her back as his good hand gripped her cheek.

Bree's arms pressed Jones' neck, clinging to his shoulders. She couldn't understand…how?

_I love him…_

Jones shivered as Bree's arms intertwined with his tentacles, realizing what he had never been brave enough to face.

_I love her…_


	7. Hated Flames: story 6

Gah, this be my revenge on Calypso. That scene in the brig just…it showed Calypso's…shallowness! So here's Bree's reaction to all of this, as if it had happened while all the Bravy angst was happening. I know all the timing doesn't add up, and my story doesn't follow any of the AWE storylines, but…let's just pretend.

"Bree, I want ye to go to the _Pearl._"

"What?"

"Ye heard me. The _Pearl_. I don't like ye bein' here with all this goin' on."

Bree looked offended, "Ye don't think I can handle this?"

Jones closed his claw over her arm, "I don't want anythin' to happen to ye, Miss Bree. Ye're a female, an' these men have been at sea for who knows how long. An' that Mercer fellow…I don't want ye crossin' 'im anymore. Ye're too rebellious for yer own good, Bree. Go to the _Pearl._ Stay with them until this is all over."

Bree tried to protest, but it was no use. Jones wouldn't speak any longer.

Bree, resigned to the idea of having to run from trouble, obeyed orders. She went to the railing, looking out towards the island in the distance. Then, closing her eyes, she stepped forward, her body seeming to fade into the night.

Bree found herself bumping into a large barrel. She wriggled past it, wondering where she had ended up. She was in the brig of the _Black Pearl_.

Why in Hellfire did Jones send her here? Was it because he knew she was friends with Sparrow and would be safe here? And why should he care?

_Part o' the ship, part o' the crew my eye…I shouldn't have to obey 'im…but I did._

And what was she supposed to do now? Simply walk up and announce her presence? Who knew what had happened up on deck. Power was constantly changing hands, everyone was crossing everyone else…she wanted no part in it.

_I'll just stay down here then…nothin' else to do._

And she did nothing. For a whole bloody day.

Bree was dozing behind the barrel when she heard voices. Someone was coming into the brig. Positioning herself so that she couldn't be seen but was able to get a clear view, Bree stayed to watch.

Two pirates, one sporting a wooden eye, were herding a woman towards the cell. She was a wild looking woman, somewhat disheveled but dignified in a way. She looked like some sort of witch, with strange markings on her face and distant eyes.

"'Ere ye go, Missus Fish," one of the men said, pushing her into the cell and slamming the door behind her. They left, their voices fading until there was complete silence once again.

Bree didn't know whether to make her presence known or to stay put. Best not risk it. She waited again.

How long she sat there, looking in at the cell, Bree never knew. It was only when the woman began winding up a metal object that she became interested.

The woman continued to wind up the crank on the metal piece, and then stopped. A small tinkling melody began to play, and Bree knew it at once.

_No…no, it can't be…_

_Jones' song!_

Bree's hand went instantly to the pouch she carried in her jerkin. Inside was the music box that belonged to her captain, which she had stolen from his cabin.

_What is she doing with another one?_

The woman sat looking at the music box tenderly, letting it play. Then, towards the end of the haunting tune, she slowly closed the lid, and the music cut off.

Bree tried to flatten the hairs on the back of her neck, but they were soon standing on end again as the tune started again. This time much closer to her.

Bree clutched at the pouch, her mouth opening in a silent scream of shock. How was it playing? How?

But Bree had no time to wonder. For she saw, in the far corner of the brig, the outline of broad shoulders as a figure came through to the cell.

_Jones!_

The woman went to the bars, her face showing tenderness. Bree watched, fascinated, as she spoke in a soft voice, her heavy islander accent evident, "My sweet…you come for me…"

Bree looked to Jones, saw his face. His eyes were set in stone.

His voice, when he spoke, was strangely thick, as if clogged, "You were expecting me."

The woman clasped the bars, staring up into Jones' face, "It has been torture, trapped in dis single form…cut off from de sea, from all dat I love…from you."

Bree's eyes went wide. No…surely no…

_Calypso?_

She saw Jones' face tensing, as if struggling to master emotion. He drew closer to the bars, his voice tense with restrained hurt, "Ten years I devoted to the duty ye charged to me…ten years, I looked after those who died at sea." The hurt thickened, and Bree felt a twinge in her heart. "And finally, when we could be together again…ye weren't there."

He paused, and asked in a voice low like thunder across gathering storm clouds, "_Why weren't ye there?_"

The woman, obviously Calypso, was not meeting his eyes. She answered in a softer voice, "Tis my nature…Would you love me if I was anyting but what I am?"

Bree felt her knuckles grip at the barrel rim at this answer. What…what kind of answer was that?

_It's her nature? To what? Break his heart? Betray him? How…how could she say that?_

Jones response was delayed, but his voice was quivering with emotion, "I do…_not_…love ye."

Calypso met his eyes, seemingly hurt, "Many tings ye were, Davy Jones…but never cruel. You have corrupted your purpose, an' so yourself." She suddenly reached forward, her hand going up behind Jones' tentacle beard and pressing his chest. Jones' tentacles shied away, as if her hand was a burning brand. He panted heavily, confusion in his face.

Bree's eyes widened. She could see him now…Davy Jones, as a man. What he had once been. Bree bit her lip, anger coursing through her. How could this woman truly blame Jones for all this? It was _her_ fault!

Calypso drew her hand away, continuing to speak as Jones turned back to his cursed self, "You hid away what always should have been mine."

Bree couldn't stand it anymore. Hid away? It was still him! Did it mean she wouldn't accept him now?

These lies, these wicked, wicked lies!

Calypso and Jones both were taken aback as the barrel in the corner went rolling sideways with a hefty crash as a voice, strong and filled with murderous anger, snarled out, "What should be _yours?_ Why? So ye can do what ye did before?"

Calypso stepped back in her cell, and Jones stepped forward towards the figure that stepped out of the shadows. His eyes widened as he saw the young girl, her teeth bared and claws out. Anger was evident in her fiery blue eyes.

"Bree!"

Calypso's eyes snapped to Jones, and her voice, suddenly losing it's tenderness, spoke harshly, "Who is she?"

Bree snarled, going up to the bars and poking her face right up by Calypso's, showing her teeth, "I'm a loyal crewmember, an' I've a duty to serve my captain!"

Hooking her claws around the bars, Bree growled, "Tell me, _Calypso_…if ye can be excused from not bein' there because it's _yer nature_…can't Jones be excused from the wrongs he's done? It's just _his nature_!"

Calypso shied away slightly, but spoke to Jones again, "Who is dis girl?" Her voice was demanding.

Jones didn't look at either of them, simply speaking in a low tone, "Bree…" It was almost a request.

"Dis girl is a crewmember?"

Jones didn't meet Calypso's eyes.

"Davy Jones…now I _know_ ya're cruel…" Calypso sounded hurt, "I thought you loved me!"

Jones still didn't raise his head, only speaking in that same low tone, "I do _not_ love ye…"

Bree growled, "I s'pose it's also yer _nature_ to be a two faced, traitorous, vain hunk of dog's fle-"

Jones grabbed Bree's collar with his claw and drew her close, hissing in her ear, "That's _enough!_"

Calypso looked furious, looking at the girl with hatred in her eyes. Jones saw the anger in Calypso's eyes. Fear flashed through him. Surely she wouldn't try to hurt Bree?

"I warn ye…if ye try anythin' against this girl-"

Calypso glared at him, "Davy Jones, I thought you belonged to me!"

Jones could feel Bree struggling in his grasp. He crushed her against himself, knowing that these two wild spirits would kill each other if he didn't separate them.

Backing up towards the corner of the brig, Jones cast one last look at Calypso, his pale blue eyes like glass and he answered the declaration of her wrongs with a question.

"_Why weren't ye there?_"

Calypso drew in a sharp breath, and found herself looking at a blank wall. The captain and the wild crewgirl were both gone.

Bree stood before Jones in his cabin, head down, eyes closed, waiting for the hatred that was about to be vented on her.

Jones looked at the girl, not sure how to deal with her. She looked so…crestfallen, so spent. As if she had been battling with an old adversary.

"I swear, girl…ye're a rebel in everything."

Bree didn't look up as she answered, "I was just followin' orders."

"I don't recall askin' ye to fight my battles."

Bree looked up finally, her eyes swimming with unexplained tears, "I don't remember ye sayin' I couldn't, either. Ye weren't doin' so well by yerself, anyway."

Jones stared at the girl, thoroughly confused. Tears were spilling over her eyelids, and pain was evident in her scarred face. Her lips trembled, and she at last broke the gaze, head going down again.

Jones felt pity stab him. He reached forward, tipping her chin.

"Bree…this matter doesn't concern ye. A lover's quarrel is more dangerous than the deadliest weapon. It's not yer fight."

Bree broke his grip, a sob breaking free suddenly.

_I can't do it, Captain! I can't do it!_

She didn't think she'd ever be able to.


	8. Overrun Part One

Ok, mates

Ok, mates. I haven't forgotten ya'll. I've got a long list of these shorties that I'm going to be writing. I just happen to be doing ones I set for myself. But I have names and ideas written down, never fear! After seeing AWE, I thought it would be interesting to see Bree's reaction to Beckett taking control of the _Dutchman_. I have a slight feeling she wouldn't get along well with Mercer…as in she would go for his throat (and there was much rejoicing). Once again, story lines don't match up and I'm kinda changing the plot, but still…and I know Mercer wasn't on the _Dutchman _at this time, but I wanted to take out some bitterness on him. Yay for the freedom of fanfics! Oh, and it's a two parter…suspensethful.

"Sail ho!"

Bree turned at the call, looking off the starboard side. Sure enough, there was a sail. She trained her eyes on it. It was a seventy-four, formidable and strong. She could see the flag flying…a blue flag.

_E…I…T…C._ Bree couldn't read, but she had been told those symbols, and she recognized the logo.

_Hellfire, what do they want now?_

Jones wasn't out on deck. He was in his cabin, and Bree could hear the low sound of the organ and felt slight reverberations. He wasn't playing hard today…he was too exhausted. They had been attacking any pirate ship that was seen, and taking no survivors.

Bree watched the ship getting closer, feeling somewhat helpless. They couldn't fire on her…they couldn't do anything but sit and wait to be given orders.

_Like a mongrel pup_…

Bree stood in a line with the others as they were herded to the opposite end of the deck, the marines all pointing their muskets toward them, bayonets flashing in the mid morning sun.

Maccus looked to Bree, nodding. She returned the nod, breaking from the line and heading for the captain's cabin. A marine pointed his musket at her, barking out, "What're you doing?"

Bree turned, baring her teeth, "Calm down, twitchy trigger! I'm just goin' to alert th' Cap'n!"

Beckett viewed Bree with a look of disgust. He still couldn't get used to seeing a female so mutilated by service here. And she behaved like a common sailor. But he nodded to the marine, "Let her be."

Bree knocked at the door of the cabin, and when she received no answer, she pushed her way in. She peered in through the gloom of the long hall. She saw Jones sitting up straight, his face turned to the side. He was trembling.

Afraid but still needing to alert him, Bree called out, "Cap'n…a Company ship…"

Jones' eyes snapped to hers, and Bree fell silent. She watched him rise, his head bent down. He moved with a strangely animated pace, his broad shoulders shaking with rage. As he passed the girl, Bree only caught a brief glance of his face. She quailed. There was death in his eyes. And what was that? On his cheek, a strange line, like a stain.

No…

_A tear stain?_

Bree followed Jones out. He was spluttering with rage at the marines, addressing Beckett, saliva and bile spurting from his mouth, "Go! All of ye! An' take that…that…" he motioned with a jerky gesture at the chest that was held between two marines, "that _infernal_ _thing_ with ye! I will not have it on my ship!"

Bree ducked around him, seeing Beckett emerge with the other man, Mercer.

"I'm sorry to hear that," began Beckett, his voice like that of one trying to bring a disobedient child under control, "because I will. Because it seems to be the only way to ensure that this ship does as directed by the Company."

He came closer to Jones, staring him right in the eye, even though the great sea captain was a good two heads taller than Beckett, "We need prisoners to interrogate, which tends to work best when they're _alive._"

Bree winced. Jones had been ordering no quarter whenever they preyed on a ship. He delighted in killing…at least, more so than usual.

Jones had gotten most of his rage under control, but his voice still quivered slightly as his cold blue eyes cut into Beckett, "The _Dutchman_ sails…as its _captain_ commands."

Beckett didn't flinch at all, "And its captain is to sail it as commanded." He stepped closer, speaking with a type of cruel satisfaction and pleasure, "I thought you would have learned that when I ordered you to kill your pet."

Jones looked away, his eyes showing pain. Confusion and utter hopelessness was etched into his face, his mouth open as if searching for words, or just searching for breath, his tentacles curling and clenching. Bree felt pity tweak her stomach. She had been there when the Kraken had died at the hands of its master. She had assisted.

"This is no longer your world, Jones," spoke Beckett. "The immaterial has become…" he paused for effect, "…immaterial." He made a hand motion, "Admiral."

A man wearing the brocade of an admiral strode forward, two marines carrying the chest following him, also followed by five men carrying guns and another with swivel guns. They went into Jones' cabin.

Jones watched it all dumbly, as if he couldn't process it. The crew all looked bewildered. This wasn't the Jones they knew.

Bree could see the pain in Jones' face. She suddenly found her voice, even if she didn't want it.

"It's our world as much as yours!"

Beckett, who had turned to go back to the _Endeavor_, looked at the girl, raising an eyebrow, "I beg your pardon, Miss?"

Bree pushed Maccus and Oglivey aside, even though the mate and gunner tried to stop her. She narrowed her eyes and set her mouth in a firm line. Then she spoke again, her inner self crying out wildly _No, no, no!_ "I said this world is ours, too. An' this ship's command belongs to Davy Jones, an' Davy Jones alone."

The crew looked alarmed. Bree was setting herself up for the gallows! They all looked to Jones, but the captain simply stared at the girl, as if he couldn't hear her words.

Bootstrap hissed out, "Bree!" But Bree didn't turn, her eyes on fire. She knew she was too rebellious for her own good. But she had a belligerent spirit that couldn't sit back and take injustice or bullying. And it took hold of her until words spilled out like insubordinate streams in full flood.

"We serve the Sea 'imself!" Bree said, motioning to Jones, "An' the sea is a place of freedom! Ye can't control it! Men 'ave never been able to, an' they never will! It's free!"

"And you have too free a tongue, young lady," Beckett said, his voice perfectly calm, unfazed by her rebellious talk, "I would do something about it before you find it nailed to a post." He turned, motioning to Mercer, who stepped forward, grabbing Bree by the shoulders and thrusting her back into line.

"Mercer, I'm leaving you in charge here," Beckett said, crossing the gangplank. "Make sure orders are obeyed." Here he looked pointedly at Bree, who was glaring balefully back at him.

When the Company men who were not assigned to the _Dutchman_ had left, Mercer turned to Jones, who was still standing to the side in a daze.

"My orders are the only ones you are to follow now, Jones."

Jones turned his cold blue eyes on the man, his lip twitching as if he were ready to show his teeth. But he turned, looking in the doorway of his cabin. At least three swivel guns were aimed at the open chest. His heart lay there…just open to anything.

Jones sighed brokenly in defeat. It was over. Beckett was right. This was no longer his world.

Bree, Bootstrap and the rest of the crew had all been forced down to the gun deck. They all huddled together dejectedly. Bree was between Bootstrap and Clanker, head resting on her knees. She was exhausted. They had worked nonstop, and the marines and Company men had given the girl endless trouble with plenty of hard kicks and blows.

Bootstrap put his arm around Bree as Clanker supported her slightly with his knee.

"Bree, they didn't hurt ye none, did they?"

Bree shook her head, accepting a bottle from Koleniko, who had scooted closer to them, "I'm all right…just a few bruises."

Clanker shook his head, "The buggers…they've no right to do that to ye. I thought they were civilized gents."

Bree chuckled humorlessly, "That's civilization for ye, mate."

Palifico was passing them, bent double. He stopped beside them, speaking in a low voice, "We can't let 'em do this, mates. The Cap'n…" he paused, looking around.

"Cap'n's not goin' to do anythin'," came the voice of Quittance. He flicked a barnacle away from his face and leaned back against one of the guns, sighing, "It's dull down 'ere…but at least we can rest."

He was right. Bree herself was falling asleep, and Clanker gave her his shoulder. Palifico looked to Bree. "How is she?"

Bootstrap shrugged, "Same. Those Company men didn't go easy, though. Rats. I saw one of 'em go at 'er with a sea-soaked rope's end!"

"All unner Mercer's orders," Koleniko growled vengefully, rubbing at his shoulder. The rest of the crew had gotten a hard time too…but Bree had been an easier target due to her smaller size and weaker physical condition.

Palifico nodded sympathetically, "Poor whelp…wish this hadn't happened."

"We all wish that, but it won't help, so put a bloody sock in it!" yelled Oglivey, trying to sleep nearby. Penrod was under the crook of his arm, and Oglivey wasn't in a good mood.

"I wanna go up on deck an' get outta here!" came the somewhat crazed shout of Wheelback, the slightly mad crewmember. He was sprawled out on his stomach, the wheel on his back quivering as he breathed. Ratlin snarled, kicking at the wheel, gaining a yelp from Wheelback, "Shut yer face, I'm tryin' to sleep."

Twins was carrying on a conversation with himself, but one head was falling asleep while the other continued talking. Maccus, who was sitting between Twins and Jimmylegs, found this too much and hit Twins with the handle of his boarding axe.

All in all, everyone was in a bad mood. And bad moods in confined spaces never turn out well. Koleniko was accidentally pricking Crash, who was already angry with Old Haddy for snoring. Greenbeard and Angler were sitting together, trying to sleep in a huddle, but Jimmylegs' whip seemed to 'accidentally' flick out to lick at them. Hadras was just getting on everyone's nerves, and Bree was cranky because she was sore and needed sleep. Clanker stayed indifferent, and Bootstrap just took it all in silence, occasionally looking upwards as if for help. It would have been quite comical had there not been the feeling of impending doom and the sound of men of the government running things up on deck.

Bree at last fell asleep along with Bootstrap, and Clanker, Koleniko and Maccus soon followed. After a few minutes, everyone was either sleeping or sitting in silence. All seemed lost.

There was nothing to be done.

Time passed slowly for the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_. They worked all throughout the day, endlessly abused by the Company men and the sadistic Mercer, and then herded into the gun deck every evening. They were given very little to drink and nothing to eat. They were viewed as animals, and life like this was turning them into animals.

Bree felt as if she would lose control. She hated the long nights crammed in between the guns. They were always so tired they fell asleep packed together. The only optimistic thing about the whole dreadful business was a deeper bond formed between them all, even if brawls did break out.

Jones was still allowed to reside in his cabin, but he refused. He never left the deck, and he never slept. His eyes had a hopeless look in them, his blue depths becoming paler by the day. He was giving up, and fast. The presence of his heart on the ship caused him to have more outbursts of emotion, no longer reserved and hidden. He had moments of frightening rage, and then seemed as if he were ready to burst into tears, though he never did.

But Bree found much of his anger directed at her, and she knew why. A woman had caused all of this…and a woman would be the one to suffer for it. She was the scapegoat for all his pain, even if none of it was her fault. She found herself hating this woman, however. She had caused nothing but trouble for all seafaring men, because she had betrayed Davy Jones.

Bree was exhausted from all this emotional strain. Jones was working away at the very core of her sanity, like an urchin on a strand of kelp. Her endurance was running low, and she felt far more tired than usual. It wasn't helped by the fact that Mercer was looking for chances to cause her grief. He was similar to Jones in that he liked to break hard spirits, and Bree was a hard spirit. It called for some complicated tactics.

Trouble really started the second week of the Company occupation. Bree was working alongside Bootstrap and Greenbeard, swabbing the deck. One of the marines maliciously kicked the bucket full of dirty liquid into their faces, drenching them.

Furious, Bree swept her hand out, scoring five long claw marks on the man's legs. Bootstrap grabbed her arm, "Stop it, Bree!"

It was too late. The marine, howling in agony as he fell to the deck, clutching his bleeding legs, was noticed by Mercer and the admiral. They both approached, and it was easy to read the situation. Bree had a proud, defiant look in her cold eyes, though her arms were tensing uneasily.

Mercer hauled the marine up, shaking him by the shoulders, "Stop that bawling! Now get back to your post!"

The man saluted shakily, limping off to the side.

Mercer bent down, level with Bree, "Missy, that was close to a mutinous gesture."

Bree bared her teeth, "Was it now? Lemme redo it so it _was_ a mutinous gesture!"

Mercer shook his head, a cruel smile spreading over his tight mouth, "Young woman, I would expect more wisdom in you. But, you are a pirate…so I can't expect much."

Bree smirked, "I_ am_ wise…now _you_ wise up an' get outta my face."

Greenbeard looked to Bootstrap, opening his beak-like mouth slightly as if to relay a thought. Bootstrap shrugged. It was useless. When Bree got going…there was no stopping her. It was like an ancient Nordic wolf skin, totally bereft of any sense.

Mercer grasped Bree by the front of her jerkin, hauling her up. She winced, but kept her eyes cold. The man glared at her, that same cruel smile on his mouth, "The cat's your new best friend, young lady."

Bree turned, growling, "Not new at all…"

After becoming reacquainted with the cat, Bree was confined to the gun deck for the rest of the day. She lay in a puddle of seawater, wincing every once in a while as the salty liquid cleaned her wounds with the usual sting. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. Jones hadn't let up, and neither had Mercer.

Bree was drifting off into a semi sleep when the crew was all herded into the gun deck, grumbling and snarling in protest. She tried to raise her head, but felt pain lancing through her temples and simply let it fall back on the deck.

Bootstrap joined Bree, leaning over her, "Ye all right, darlin'?"

Bree nodded, giving a short noise in answer. Clanker scooted closer, "Gaw, I've about had it wi' them up there!"

Koleniko joined them, his right cheek expanding, the spikes separating, "I _have_ had it with 'em!" He reached over, helping Bree to sit up as she began to pull her bloodied jerkin back onto her shredded back.

"Well, we can't do anythin' if the Cap'n's just goin' to sit tight," commented Crash, overhearing their words.

Clanker looked toward the entrance to the gun deck, craning his head around and asking, "Where is the Cap'n anyhow?"

Bree shrugged, adjusting the collar of her threadbare sailcloth shirt, "Off feelin' sorry for 'isself, most likely."

"Wrong, Miss Bree."

The entire crew whirled around to see Jones himself standing on the stairs. His arms were crossed, his eyes dark and dangerous.

Bree paled as he began sweeping them all with his cold stare. When he reached her, he lingered just a bit longer, as if to prove to her he planned on carrying out punishment for her loose tongue.

"Boys…we have to admit defeat eventually. It's what life is about…holdin' out as long as possible. It's no longer possible."

A murmur of protest was quelled by another sharp bark from Jones, "Silence!"

Bree stood up as straight as was possible in the gundeck, "Cap'n, sir, ye can't mean it! We haven't lost yet!"

Agreement was heard throughout the crew as they turned to look at their captain. Jones shook his head mournfully, "Listen to me…I've no choice. No choice at all."

Bree sat back down, but still spoke out, "But sir! What's to stop us from surroundin' the bloody dogs an' murderin' 'em?"

Shouts of concurrence were again heard, and even some admiring glances were cast at the girl. What a bloody little mind she had! It was something needed in a crewmember of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Jones growled at Bree, "Silence, Miss Bree. Hold yer tongue afore I cut it out an' feed it to ye!"

Bree bit her tongue to hold back a retort. She was too tired to risk getting into more trouble.

Jones turned his gaze from her, "I can't risk that…they've got me heart in my cabin. One wrong move, an' they blast away at it."

"Can't we create a diversion, sir?" suggested Koleniko, raising a hand. More voices agreed with this idea.

Jones shook his head, "No, lads, there ain't nothin' we can do about this."

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir…but we can't just sit 'ere!" called out Palifico. Palifico had long been feeling somewhat useless. He was Jones' appointed guard, and felt it was his duty to help the Captain in such a situation as this.

Jones turned his flat gaze on the speaker, and Palifico quailed as his Captain answered him, "I'm sorry, Master Palifico…but we _have_ t' sit here an' do nothin'. Those are our orders."

On that annoying impulse, Bree spoke again, even though Bootstrap tried to restrain her, "Cap'n Jones, ye dunno what kind of embarrassment this is! Cap'n o' the _Flying Dutchman_ takin' orders from some powdered wig wearin' fool who don't know the hull from the mizzenmast? Downright humiliatin'!"

Jones narrowed his eyes, a slight emotion flaring up in the ice depths.

"Miss Bree…I warned ye, didn't I? Dinnae interrupt me again."

Bree shook her head, "Cap'n, how'll ye keep yer name as the dreaded Davy Jones, captor o' souls an' all that? It's almost as embarrassin' as the fact ye found yerself bested by some strumpet that led to all this heart business!" This last statement was spoken with vehement sincerity and anger. All the restrained anger at this one woman, whom Bree had never even met, was coming out. That woman had caused all this misery because she had betrayed the wrong man. But it was Jones' fault too…wasn't it?

_No, it ain't…but I don't care!_

Everything went dead silent when those words left Bree's mouth. Horror was stamped on every crewmember's face…including Bree's own. She wasn't stupid. Rash and passionate, yes, but stupid, no. She was much like Jones in that respect.

Jones' face went through a gamut of expression, from shock and disbelief, to pain and sorrow of the memories, then to deadly anger.

"Ye'll wish the Kraken 'ad got t' ye by th' time I'm finished with ye fer that one, whelp," he snarled, and with that, he turned and stormed back up the stairs and onto the deck.

Bree stood still, her back rigid. She finally forced herself to sit, her face afire with fear and embarrassment as the entire crew looked at her in shock. A voice hissed close to her ear, "Ye bloody fool!"

Bree turned to see the speaker. Bootstrap! She felt hurt by his words. He had never spoken to her so harshly!

But as he continued, she saw that his hard words were coming from his concern for her, like that of a father watching out for his only daughter, "Ye've made 'im livid! He'll flog ye with a sea krait if ye continue wi' this! Ye hit a nerve…a big one!"

Bree slumped back, speaking in a mutinous tone that still shook with a fear she wished she could hide, "Let 'im hurt…I don't care. It's his own bloody fault we're in this mess."

"Ain't no excuse fer behavior like that," Bootstrap said firmly. He knew Bree was rebellious when it came to Jones…but she was getting to be a real danger to herself.

Bree turned her pale blue eyes on Bootstrap, "Mate…there's an excuse fer anythin' done on this ship…_it's hell_."

Bootstrap opened his mouth to object, but Bree signaled that she was through arguing. She curled up, her head tucked into the curve of her body. She had said everything she wanted to say.

And she stayed silent for the rest of the night.

The morning dawned gray and smothered with fog, fitting to the mood of the disgruntled crew that emerged from the gun deck. Bree was among the last group, her head lowered, eyes staring out from two sunken hollows of weariness and slight hopelessness.

Mercer watched the young girl with a satisfied smirk. She was lagging in her work, looking despondent and tired. It was a somewhat sudden change, considering how the day before she had been full of fire. But she was spent today.

In truth, while Bree wasn't entirely subdued, she was fading fast. She had grown tired and was losing her energy for rebellion…the emotional strain was proving to be too much for her.

Of course, Mercer felt no pity and showed no leniency toward the girl. He set one of his crew to keep an eye on her, and ordered him not to spare the rope's end. Bree had not paid fully for her rebellion.

Jones watched Bree working from under hooded eyes. Hatred was still hot in his blood, but he couldn't help feeling a pang of pity for her. The hollow look of her face…it was like seeing a small but wild horse, magnificent in its spirit, being broken with the use of a cruel, spiked bit, or by being ridden into the ground.

Her insolence still had to be punished. But somehow, Jones felt closer to his crew now. He was as helpless as they were, taking orders from someone else. He had a cruel taste of the hopelessness they felt every day.

He and Bree were very similar in the fact that they both felt trapped. Neither had a way out of their predicament. True, the rest of the crew had to deal with the East India Trading Company as well, but Bree was bearing the brunt of the hardship due to her lowly position and the fact that Mercer hated her with a passion.

But Bree was willing to rebel and do something about it, as were many of the crew…while Jones had no choice but to let things be as they were.

He reasoned with himself. Bree wasn't the one whose heart was open to bayonets and swivel guns! Of course…she was having to deal with him and Mercer at the same time.

_Brave lass…_he thought reluctantly. Then he forced another thought that was true as well.

_Stupid lass._

Once again, the crew found themselves confined in the cramped gundeck, eyes watering from the gunpowder still lingering in the air after the brutal attack on a small sloop. They hadn't left anything.

Bree was seething with rage. No, she hadn't been flogged today, as amazing as it seemed…but she was livid with hatred for Mercer.

_He had flogged Bootstrap!_

Bree was busy laying strips of cloth soaked in seawater over Bootstrap's back. She ground her teeth at the memory of seeing him tied to the gratings, back bared to the cruel whip. But he had been strong. He didn't cry out and he didn't even wince as the whip struck him. Nothing but cold acceptance in his eyes. But Bree had shot poison at Mercer.

Bootstrap lay with his cheek pressed up against the slime-coated deck, not making any movements as Bree worked. He thought it slightly humorous. Normally it was he doing this for Bree. Now here he was, lying limp, allowing Bree to work. He noted with approval that she was soaking the strips just the right amount and was laying them across the bleeding areas with particular attention to the deeper cuts. She had learned from him. He had never thought she would have to use these skills on him.

"Ye all right, mate?" came Bree's voice, breaking through the fog that had started to roll in on Bootstrap's mind. He raised his head slightly, but felt Bree place her hand on his cheek, pressing his head down gently, "Don't ye dare move, Bill!"

He couldn't help a weak smirk. She only called him Bill when she was hiding her concern with testy reprimands.

"Pardonnez-moi, mon Capitaine," he answered, giving her leg a slight nudge with his elbow. She gave a little growl of annoyance, but he could tell she was hiding a nervous laugh. He spoke encouragingly, "Ye're doin' it right, beauty. 'Sides…I ain't such an' ol' fogey I can't take a floggin' now an' then."

Bree shook her tousled mop of tow-colored hair, "It ain't that, mate…they shouldn't've done it. All ye did was warn that marine 'bout the loose cable…" She blinked back tears of indignation, "He had no right t' snap at ye like that! Ye were tryin' to help 'im an' he blames ye for insubordination!"

Bootstrap attempted to shake his head, only to feel Bree's hand again, "It's past, Bree…ain't nothin' we can do t' fix it."

"There is, too…" came Bree's rebellious growl. Bootstrap raised his head fully this time, despite Bree's indignant protests, "Bree, get any ideas outta yer head. This ain't the first floggin' that's ever happened, an' it ain't the last."

Bree's eyes narrowed to icy chips, "Bootstrap, I won't let 'em get away wi' this."

"Bree!" Bootstrap grabbed hold of Bree's hand, forcing her to meet his eyes, "Can't ye see this is Mercer's way o' baitin' ye? Ye're playin' right into his hands!"

"Aye, Miss Bree, Bootstrap's right," came Clanker's voice. He knelt, removing his hat for a moment to wipe soot from his brow. He looked back up at them, "Best thing we can do is…nothin'."

Bree scoffed, "Ye're just lazy an' afraid. A pair o' old ladies!"

Clanker leaned his head back, "I feel 'bout as weak as an old lady right now."

Bree stole his hat momentarily, holding it in front of her face tauntingly, "Soggy bottom…"

Clanker rolled his eye, "C'mon, Bree, name-callin' won't get ye anywhere."

Bree flapped his hat as he tried to get it back, "Soggy bottom! Soggy bottom!"

Hadras, sitting nearby, began laughing dully, "Huhuhuh! Clankie's bottom _is_ soggy! Everybody's bottom is soggy! We're all sittin' in-"

"Shuddup, Hadras," came Maccus' snarl. He had raised a marlinspike threateningly. Hadras was smart enough to take a hint.

Bree blew a heavy sigh, leaning her chin on her knees. Then she looked up, craning her neck over the heads of her companions.

"Jones ain't in 'ere, is he?"

"No, don't think so," said Koleniko, who was lying on his stomach nearby.

Bree nodded, scraping a few limpets from her cheek with a claw. Then she cleared her throat, looking thoughtful. Then…

"Ain't we all tired o' this tyranny?"

Silence. Then Penrod's little voice, "Aye…how'd ye debuce that?"

"It's de_duce_, nincompoop."

Penrod shot a glare at Twins.

Bree spoke over the sniggers, "Seriously, mates…cain't we do somethin' 'bout it all?"

"I really don't think we can, mate," Koleniko said wanly.

Bree's shaggy head drooped. She heaved another sigh, staying silent. Then she stood slightly, "Mates…this is stupid."

"Aye, so sit down!"

Bree ignored Quittance, continuing in a voice that grew stronger, "We're warriors of the sea! We're the feared crew of the _Flying Dutchman_! Sailors shiver in their boots when they hear our names! We're Davy Jones' fighters!"

She glared at them all, "An' here we are…sittin' cowerin' in the gundeck."

Her eyes swept them all, "I know, I'm only a slip of a girl. I ain't in charge of ye all. I ain't the captain, an' I know that I'm th' weakest one of us all." She noted that a few of the crewmembers looked at Penrod, as if trying to make a point, but she ignored it, "But why am I th' only one who wants to try to get free? Why am I the only one willin' to fight for my place?"

The crew had begun to look down, as if shamed by her speech.

"Well, mates, I've taken enough abuse from Mercer an' his boys. I'm askin'…does anyone really think those boys are any better'n us?"

More silence, though she noticed some of the crew looking around somewhat uncomfortably. Then, Jimmylegs, "It ain't worth it, girlie. Give it up."

"It _is_ worth it!" Bree argued, "I know I can't make ye all do it…so I'm askin' ye. Why give in? Who's afraid of a bunch of red-coated idjits?"

Once more, no answer. Bree narrowed her eyes, straightening.

"Well sirs…I ain't aimin' to give up anytime soon. I'm goin' to get rid o' these ruddy tyrants."

"How?"

Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, and she faltered, "I…I dunno…but I will!"

"Yeh, you an' what army?" came a jeer from Old Haddy. Penrod sniggered, but someone cuffed him roughly.

Bree continued speaking, "It's worth a try. Anyone with me? We could end all of this…" She felt very weak and small, standing amid a crowd of hardened men, trying to rouse them with feeble words. But she had had enough.

Silence…and then…

Bootstrap looked up at her, then smiled, "I'm with ye. We'll think o' somethin'." He glanced around, "Anyone?"

After a lull, Clanker, Koleniko and Palifico stood. Between them, they helped Bootstrap to his knees, supporting him. Hadras stood up as well, but he ruined the solemnity of the moment by standing up too quickly and banging his head on the wooden planking. A ripple of laughter was heard, and in a surge of camaraderie, more members stood up. Soon they were all standing together. Yes, even Jimmylegs.

Bree grinned, calling out to the men, "Right, mates! We're goin' to make those company men wish they'd never left their harbor!"

A soft cheer went up, and Bree had her hair ruffled a little too much.

Above, on deck, Jones crouched by the entrance to the gun deck, hidden from sight. But he could hear every word that was spoken. And he couldn't help but smile. Bree…she had a skill for that sort of thing…bringing everyone together. While he didn't think she could achieve what she was hoping…he admired her for trying.

"Jones!"

Jones bristled, his hackles rising. He turned his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at Mercer. Mercer was glaring down at Jones, "On your feet, Jones."

Jones rose, coming to his full height. He was a full head taller than Mercer, and his tentacle beard squirmed as he spoke in a dangerously low voice, "On my ship, ye will address me as _Captain._"

Mercer didn't back down, "This ship is under _my_ command."

Jones met Mercer's eyes with his own icy stare, the pale blue depths murderous as he spoke in a perfectly calm voice, but it still carried authority and danger.

"For now."

Down below in the gun deck, Jimmylegs, who was sitting near the stairs, had called everyone to be silent, motioning upwards.

Bree strained her ears to listen, catching the last bit. She rose slightly, still bent double. She began weaving her way to the stairs, stepping in between the crew. They tried to make room for her, some even lifting her up over their heads in an almost friendly gesture.

Bree reached the stairs, and began walking up them, stamping her feet loudly to announce her presence. She appeared on deck, seeing Jones and Mercer turned toward her.

Bree raised an eyebrow, "Am I interruptin' somethin', chaps?"

Jones looked at her as if seeing her anew. After hearing her down below, he couldn't help but feel a bit of respect for her. And the calmness she was displaying…it was admirable.

Mercer crossed his arms, "Ah, Miss Bree…our little rebel has learned her lesson?"

Bree flashed him a dangerous grin, her fangs bared pointedly, "Aye, chum…I learned that you Company men dunno how to wield the cat properly. Felt like string being flung by a baby."

Jones bit his lip to suppress a smile of wicked pleasure. Seeing Bree stand up to Mercer was like a breath of fresh air. The girl knew that Mercer could do anything he liked with her…but that didn't stop her from saying what she thought. And she was fired with her triumph. She had brought the crew together…as strange and impossible as it seemed. And she knew it was not because she had leadership skills or any sort of presence…it was because there were souls like her who simply needed urging.

Mercer gave Bree another cold stare, "Ah, still playing at that, are we? I was hoping you would learn."

Bree met his eyes levelly, "Shouldn't ye be off tendin' to yer little frog of a master?"

Bree gave a yelp of pain as Mercer slammed the handle of a dagger into her temple. She snarled out something, rubbing at the side of her head as she regained her footing.

"Mister Mercer," came a voice from behind. They all turned. The admiral was waiting, bowing his head slightly, "Mister Mercer, a word, please."

They stepped away. Jones watched the admiral closely. He tilted his head. The man didn't seem a bad sort…he looked like a stiff, rigid man of discipline, committed to following orders despite his own personal feelings. What was his name? Norring…Norrington. James Norrington, that was it.

Bree sat down slightly on the step, nursing the bruised tracing down her face. She was blinking rapidly as her eyes watered with the sudden pain. Jones went to her, kneeling down and roughly grabbing her by a lock of her hair, pulling her face up to meet his. He spoke in a noncommittal tone, "That tongue'll be the death of us all, Miss Bree."

Bree made a silent sound of pain as he tugged at her hair. She wrenched her head free, speaking defiantly, "Huh, I think we'd all rather be dead."

Jones remembered the fire that had been in her voice in the hold. He shook his head, "No, Miss Bree. I don't think anyone…or any_thing_…could kill ye. Or even shut ye up for that matter."


End file.
